Pumping the gas pedal, he set the choke and pressed the starter. The engine sluggishly turned over with a sad groaning noise that slowly started to build in speed and volume. Pumping the gas harder, Ryan adjusted the choke to make the mixture to the carburetor richer and the engine sputtered briefly, then caught with a roar, banging and clanging.
Reaching under the hood, J.B. used a screwdriver to adjust something Ryan couldn’t see because of the angle, and the big diesel suddenly settled down to a low roar of controlled power.
“That’ll do it,” J.B. said with satisfaction, tucking the screwdriver into his munitions bag. “Better let her run until we’re ready to leave. That’ll give the seals a chance to absorb some oil before we put them under real pressure.”
Playing with the choke, Ryan got the engine lowered to a gentle rumble, the sputters coming with less and less frequency. They needed to run the engine to break it in before leaving, but with the ventilation system gone, the exhaust fumes mixed with the previous oil smoke and the mounting stink of the aced millipedes into a noxious reek that was getting worse by the minute.
“Okay, load her up,” Ryan said, resting an arm on the window. “Toss in anything you think we might need. With the power gone, once we’re outside, we’re not getting back in, so this is a one way trip. Strip the place to the walls.”
The companions moved with a purpose, eager to leave the dying redoubt. Since there were no seats in the rear of the wag, they added a couple of the better mattresses from the officers’ quarters, and packed spare blankets, a shovel, spare rope, some chains, the box full of Molotovs, spare pieces of canvas from the other GMC trunks to use as patches, and all of the fuel containers they could comfortably fit. It took everybody, including Ryan, to hoist the water drum into the rear of the trunk, and they lashed it firmly in place in the middle of the fuel cans. Just a bit of extra insurance.
“That’s everything,” J.B. said, fighting a cough from the thickening atmosphere. “Let’s move out!” Slamming shut the gate and locking it into position with steel pins on both sides, he went to the front cab and climbed into the passenger seat alongside Ryan, laying the S&W shotgun between them where it couldn’t be seen from the ground.
“Expecting trouble, John Barrymore?” Doc rasped through the tiny slit of the rear window. There was a sliding panel to separate the cab from the cargo space, but it was open at the moment. The man was trying not to show it, but the filthy air was obviously hurting his throat.
“Just getting ready for it,” the Armorer said tightly, checking the action on his Uzi machine gun.
“Hang on, this is going to be rough!” Ryan shouted to the people in the rear, his voice breaking for a moment. Fireblast, the air was almost thick enough to chew! His forehead was still hurting from the earlier slam, and this crap was making his entire head throb.
Shifting into a low gear, he threw the switch engaging the independent drive system and started to climb over the smashed cars until reaching the floor again. Now going to uniform drive, Ryan fed the big diesel some power and the front steel grate slammed into another wag knocking it aside. The jolt shook the entire group, and the people in the back had to hang on tight and drop their nukelamps.
“Put the pedal to the metal!” Mildred shouted, then paid for that by getting a lungful of the billowing smog and almost passing out.
Saving his breath, Ryan didn’t reply but did as she suggested and soon a clear area led the wag to another impasse blocked by wreckage. Using the independent drive again, he tried to keep the lumbering wag level as its weight noisily crumpled the hoods of luxury government cars and smaller vehicles.
“Running hot,” Ryan growled, shifting gears and pumping gas. “Don’t like that!”
“Ignore it. It’ll be fine,” J.B. answered, watching a millipede dart into the shadows away from the glaring headlights of the moving wag.